Chylder
by Draconicality
Summary: Eight-year old Enrique Giancarlo goes to France and meets six-year old Oliver Polanski! Cuteness in later chapters ^_^ R&R!
1. In Comes the Italian

A/N: After writing Fortune's Impulse, I suddenly got a bunch of ideas for Enrique and Oliver stories and decided to write 'em up…:P So, here's my second ficcy!  Or the start of it anyway…  (I may just add it to 'Fortune's Impulse' to make an arch after it's complete, mes amis!)

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**Chylder**** – Chapter One: In Comes the Italian**

It was the young Italian's third time in Paris, the grand capital of France.  However, the first time had been when he was barely a year old, and the second had been a short stopover in the airport to change planes.  

So, the sights and sounds of a city so different from his native Rome still gave eight-year-old Enrique Giancarlo cause to clutch tightly at his mother's hand.

_"Mamma, perchè siamo qui?"_ Huge, eager blue eyes took in the sights from beneath unkempt blond bangs.  _So very strange, this place is…_With its beautiful parks and greenery, and the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower rising in the distance…

_"Riunione sociale con un amico dil tuo padre, tesoro." _ Amelita Giancarlo smiled down at her young son, light brown hair gleaming in the bright sunlight as they strolled through the bustling street, followed closely by a man with an untidy mane of blond hair. (So very like his son's – indeed, Eduardo Giancarlo had passed much of his appearance down to his young male heir, with the exception of stern, hawkish brown eyes.)

Enrique nodded seriously, satisfied with _that explanation as much as his inquisitive mind could get, and switched to English.  "But _Mama, _what am I going to do there?"  He had watched (from a safe distance,) some of the formal dinners and parties his parents hosted, and, well…there was only one word for them._

**_Che noia._**_ How bo-ring!_

"They have children too,  _figlio.  _Or one child, at least – I'm sure the two of you can keep yourselves occupied!"

"A son, about your age," Eduardo interjected, having finally caught up.  "His name is...Orville?  Owen?  No...O-something...ah, yes!  Young Oliver Polanski."

This made Enrique even **_more_** nervous, if anything.  He'd never felt very comfortable around other, unfamiliar people, his age or no.

Eduardo saw the look on his son's face and laughed.  "Don't worry, _ragazzo mio.  _I'm sure you two will get along just fine!"

The young boy was _not _reassured.

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_Mamma, perchè siamo qui?__ – Mother, why are we here?_

_Riunione__ sociale con un amico dil tuo padre, tesoro – The social meeting with your father's friend, honey (?)_

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**_Che_****_ noia_****_ – _How boring!**

_Figlio_ – Son

_Ragazzo mio_ – My boy

Thank you Arya for correcting these! ^______^ *passes cookies to everyone*


	2. Meeting of Mishap

A/N: Yes, iiiiiiit's back! =3 I finally got a brainstorm for this chapter over Sunday lunch, and decided to put it up.

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**Chylder**** - Chapter Two: Meeting of Mishap**

Enrique had gotten himself lost in the garden almost as soon as they were through the gate, figuring that wandering around within the Polanski estate was vastly preferable to sitting politely down with the adults.

But, within twenty minutes…

_*Roses.  I hate roses.*  _

Two minutes later…

_*I really, REALLY hate roses.*_

Five minutes and many more accidents involving thorny branches later…

_*I HATE THIS __WHOLE__STUPID__GARDEN__!*_

A further two minutes passing…

_*Maybe if I climb that tree I'll see the way out of this [Italian profanity that would have made his mother faint] place.*_

Five minutes…

_*Trees are harder to climb than they look.*_

Fifteen minutes…

_*Wow!  I can climb the tree!  Whoohoo!*_

Another minute…and…

**CRACCCCKKKKKKK-**

_*What's that noi - AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!* [1]_

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Oliver plunked himself down on a convenient small boulder, watching in fascination.

They looked like ordinary roses, he thought, so why were they rustling so much? 

_Buissons_ ne se déplacent pas… _[2]_

Now they were muttering to themselves.  They sounded angry.

_Buissons ne parlent pas!_ [3]

Suddenly, the shrubs in question shook and yelped loudly. The six-year-old started, glimpsing a flash of red.

"_Mon dieu_!"  He dropped his plushie and ran over, carefully parting the branches and avoiding the thorns. "_Comment vous êtes entré ici?" [4]_

The disheveled boy he had just discovered glared up at him, sky-blue eyes streaming in pain  as he tried to pull himself free of the thorns.  "What do you think?  _Sono caduto [5]. __ Help me!"_

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[1] – Yes, the branch broke.

[2] – Bushes don't move…

[3] – Bushes don't talk! (Oliver was rather silly at six, wasn't he?)

[4] – How did you get in here?

[5] – I fell. (Imagine an eight year old saying this in a really peeved tone of voice.  It's funny ^__^ Poor Enrique, he has the worst luck…)

Yes, I know this took an unreasonably long time, and is an equally unreasonably short chapter.  The next one will be longer (I think.)  No, Oliver cannot speak a lot of English yet.  

Angelrita: Thanks.  Sorry it took so long, I was working on other things.

Coppelia: Hell yes, you can imagine the Majestics as cute little kiddies, can't you?  Well, maybe not Robert.  

Anime the Fallen Angel: *hugs* Point taken about French guys.  I've never seen a cute one either.  Go figure.

Darkphoenix: Yeah, school bites; a month in and 8th grade's already killing me.  Grr to school.

Arya: *bows* THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!   Sooo happy ^_^  I've corrected what you pointed out.  I'm SO glad someone finally decided to help me with my translations ^_^ You can tell my translator is abysmal, hm?  *kicks Babelfish*

Wendy14: Thanks for the suggestion…it's definitely better than the one I was using.  Ja!


End file.
